Long Idylls Poems
Long Idylls Poems. Below are the most popular long Idylls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Idylls poems by poem length and keyword.
The mornings create renewed hope
As lovers make plans to elope
And friends discover how to cope
Which contours a kaleidoscope
Of vibrantly affected dreams
Delightful colored potentials
From wondrous heavenly angels
Removing cruel, harsh troubles
Reassuring lost self-esteem
The afternoons bring enriched faith
The kind that makes you feel so safe
The sort that fills your heart with praise
As conviction teaches and conveys
Beliefs that assure fearful souls
Inspiring comfort which fulfills
With good knowledge in sweet idylls
Reminding hearts that dream instills
And moving souls to reach their goals
The twilights arouse revived love
The type that makes you reach above
The feeling that’s calm like a dove
Shows two fit as one like a glove
True love is without conditions
And gifts the spirit with vision
Prepares the mind for decision
These feelings craft true precision
Consoling sore inhibitions
August 19, 2014
Contest: The Lady of Shalott
Sponsored by: Isaiah Zerbst
From a gem-encrusted window’s moonlit sash,
I peer vacantly on monetesque impressions,
as they wander every ink shade hue pathway.
bag lady street hail loner,
water colour lachrymose plight,
across the spillway nights-cape,
cul-de-sac of shadow flitting,
sprites begging to be daubed,
on some genie artist’s easel.
surreal urban pulse rate ,
spooky ghost form atom charge,
of tomb laden solemness,
sodden eerie platform where,
my silver bob tail auntie,
booked her tickets to southern rustic idylls.
she sang of autumn sunset blight,
its wan perusal o’er moisture ashen realm.
her final year on earth evoked dichotomy,
defying dissertation on that grey stone bridge,
between a luminous parade of diamond,
glitter and mirrorball municipal,
sandwich filler to that lamb,
of many bleats amid lush pastures,.
blossom facial hyacinth relation,
who once did eyelash blink,
those natural world Edens flowing,
thru her lyric laden pysche.
Alas that end of term eviction,
lifespan tenure landlord surreptitious,
in their reach cast a mural,
strain upon this tower block,
mythic folklore woman
Aunt Verna really loved my benign timbre, the way I cuddled words as they came out.
Treasure troves unlocked with mystic reverence, would add a little sunshine for awhile.
How cleverly I sculpted rustic idylls as I spoke,
the warmth with which I told of beech wood log fires,
old breakfast fare beloved by homely folk I’d neatly sketch,
those settings I portrayed with just a tone.
Horizons from afar and wondrous lands, journeys from the centre of the earth, rainbow clouds I planted in her heart were warmly welcomed.
That kindly face transformed itself when taking in my poems about the sea.
She loved when salted yarns infused an image, the frothy waves and reckless storms engulfing it.
Those oceanic eyes of my dear auntie, always revelled in the surge of every sonnet, as they surfed the silver tides with magic flair.
An epic verse would have this woman mesmerized,
some April breeze would prompt a tender smile,
a butterfly bewildered would do likewise.
Spring colours could be readily restored, each time I had the privilege or chance, of transporting someone precious to an earlier enchantment,
to that time perhaps when life had just begun
Does the lowered eye mark one, prey?
Do mild manners detain the heirs of courage,
And supplant servile, simpering cowards
Who cater to the whims of the bullish,
And ill-manner’d?
The furrowing of the brow, upon meeting
The eyes, a smouldering hate inferred?
Prithee, tell the need of an otherwise
Noble man
To seek to humble one he knows not;
But in all hubristic error,
Deem a lesser man—
Tho' the gods smite—
Could sooner be his ending
Than any beginning of cruelty
He would defer.
I beg thee, pass softly—
For oft' times
The gods walk among us,
Unknown
And clothed in beggar's
Rags.
But here we would tend
The perception of
The common man,
Of which we all are.
Were our titles stripped from us,
Gold and coin, that seat us
Well with advantage, prestige,
And resource scarce divided
Among those without,
Relieved us—
How far would we fall
Before our imagined realms
And self set crowns
Shatter and break
Upon the humble ground
That wrought us up
Through fortunes fated,
Or generations generous
With years honest toils and labors?
In sooth these ephemeral devices
Aside—
Prick'd, our blood
Bares but one shade
That of red.
All else are machinations
Of the brain,
Where the ego
Would stroke us with
Affirmations of
Such lofty natures
That we would see
One another as
High and low,
Vengeance' victim
Or as one justified
To take beyond the need,
Lest the low squander
The fruitful seed.
And utopia become too common a place,
Thus polluted with the common blood.
Nay.
The true utopia, if thou seekest,
Is humble fellowship,
Compassion, and sacrifice;
For all idylls may not be attained
All at once.
Let them be of such
Continually strived toward
And lived, and roads walked.
See not my eyes lowered—
See thy brother,
See thy sister,
See thy humble family
Through trial and fortune's favor,
Together.
In youth, I wrote many poems of rhyme,
quatrains flowing freely on the lines.
Here and there a couplet would unwind
and on occasion quintains undefined.
As time progressed, I tried my hand
at Japanese Haiku and tanka you
but mine were plain and bland.
Soon enough came some monologues,
they are always in my head,
brandishing wild, love lustful poetry
with blank verse and ballad narratives unsaid.
Nowadays though, I think I may have settled in
with a grandiose display of my version of free verse.
But as age and loss requires and incurs
elegies and eulogies and epitaphs, the worse.
Still on occasion, a line plays out to idylls,
some kyrielles and odes.
Few limericks survive, as learned outside of school
but writing feelings, love, emotion
often lets me play both the lover and the fool.
A pastoral or deep poetic prose may still find
and shape in sonnets may reveal a deeper mind.
Hidden somewhere is a multitude of Vaasokhts
but not a single verse of love revealed
leaving many on the sidelines unknown
awaiting other compilation remaining to be shown.
In the swaying middle of a dangerous voyage
To climes of far sunnier look and ripening age,
I often fight the doubts of a death-daring wreck;
Questioning the exact wisdom of my lonely trek.
Not that I midway could my courses amend,
Nor make room for ruings and ebbing hopes;
Or dreading harsher shores first wishes trim,
To cry in sync with sad martyrs' effete tropes.
Verily there’s a shadow where clear roads stood,
And tripping blocks where defter legs easily trod;
There slashing ogres their charging scrolls shout,
To put to rout the wearied walker's untiring mode.
Yes dispiriting detriment picked routes obscures,
With every unthinkable wall and slowing mounds;
Forcing fatigued legs into impromptuous detours,
Which bite with blighting pain and chilling sounds.
The labouring voyager shall move on in truth,
To the dream-born Idylls of his unshorn youth.
Fickle sunbeams tickle fluttering daydreams...…
Lyrical lapping lullaby encores...
Gingerly stroke sandy shell shattered shores..
Starlings spy…sky high murmurations...
Skimming stones....slicing silky sheens..
Voluptuously verdant riddles…islands within idylls...
Scattered daffy darlings..dilly dally...
Sunshine splattered chlorophyll candles...
Animosity as an ersatz monstrosity shines…
Saluting highfalutin pomposity..devouring skylines..
Notes of cut grass gloats floats from..
Middle class mowed manicured marvels..
Criss cross collaborations… surf the tailored turf....
Billiards baize ablaze with petrichor whiffs
Festooned with afternoon nana nap snores..
The radio's heavenly hum of cricket scores...
A duvet of familiar riffs...murmurs of what if's..
An inkling..whispers of summer's sprinkling serendipity twinkling..
Varying tactics to deftest tongues,
I find it a futile taxing of tired lungs;
She hears finer tropes with disdain,
And loves lips that deal daring pain.
For fibs she sworn truths exchanged;
At once dazzled by such fiddly verbs
As paint fabled shades of gilded gold,
And cozy castles agleam in airy hubs.
When I say our love shall solidly dwell
Upon fidelity's firm bed of pure candor,
Smooth-tipped rivals juicier idioms tell
Of better treats and fairy Idylls grander.
To blur by guiles and gimmicks worse
Pledged long kiss on meadows green,
Feisty adversaries yet shameless vow
To garnish her with blues' fairest stars.
She in wind-chasing fantasies shuns
Her sincere love to fall for fizzy puns.
We went to sleep for but a little while
I met you in my dreams.
You delivered to me
all your stories
all throughout the little while
all throughout the years.
The Dilettante Diaries: “The Dream”
You watched me as I breathed
I placed your little hand onto my heart
as you closed your eyes you breathed
I watched you fall asleep
Remember what I whispered,
“My darling, I will never leave”
“Sometimes the ones we love the most
stay, they walk with us in our dreams”
(d.18.9.71)
(b.18.9.99)
Lovejoy-Burton/18.9.18
for G, Happy birthday darling daughter. x
for K, M. x
for my beloved Mother, Lynette.
Miracles do happen and dreams do come true. x
1. In Anglo-Saxon the meaning of the name Lynette is: Bird.
2. In Arthurian legend Lynette accompanied Sir Gareth on a knightly quest.
3. "Gareth and Lynette", Alfred Lord Tennyson (Author/Poet)
(from: Idylls of the King [1859-1885] )
http://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/text/tennyson-gareth-and-lynette
4. For G. ~Miss Peregrine`s Home for Peculiar Children~
https://www3.fmovies.ac/watch-miss-peregrines-home-for-peculiar-children-2016-fmovies.html
Name of the Contest: Snow Fantasy or Christmas Nostalgia Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by: Constance La France.
"Don't Christmas bells peal through each passage of time?" - Poet.
I think of the times when I was a child.
How, with glittering new garments, I smiled!
The stars, bells, and the animal idols...
Everything resembled solemn idylls.
My adolescence didn't change things much.
I had, then, imagined your gentle touch.
Hymns and carols gave a serene feeling.
Every scene in the church seemed appealing.
Nothing can be compared with that Christmas.
In which each thing, for us, was auspicious
In time's grace-filled tapestry, our threads met.
Our life, like the polestar, seemed to be set.
Our children adorned the cribs, then, each year.
With cuisines and gifts, we had unique cheer.
They got married, had children, and time passed.
We stood, to each other, always steadfast.
Fate has taken you away from me now.
I share my joys with each one, anyhow.
I find your image in knick-knacks and gifts.
I'm feeling within too, the time's soft shifts.